


Sherlock: Phones On Desks

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Sherlock: Impact [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes and DI Lestrade are dating... well they would be if they ever get to go on an actual date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Phones On Desks

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

_‘Mycroft, do you date a lot?’_

_Mycroft jumped. ‘Excuse me?’_

_‘I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date... with me.’_

_‘With... you...’ Mycroft said, unable to think of something intelligent._

_‘Well, quite frankly, I think you’re gorgeous,’ Greg said and smiled as Mycroft’s face turned red, ‘and I want to date you.’_

_‘Oh... I see...’_

_‘Would that interest you?’ Greg asked._

_Mycroft didn’t trust himself to speak. Him... on a date... with Gregory Lestrade. He felt like he could faint right there and then. Instead, he managed a nod._

_‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Greg smiled. He felt something stir in his chest and realised, with pleasure, that it was joy._

_And it was Mycroft Holmes making him feel it._

_And it made him smile broadly._

 

-oOo-

 

Gregory Lestrade hadn’t felt this exited in... years. He had a date, a date his twin sister hadn’t set him up on. He knew the man, sort of, had actually met him and had a conversation. He just couldn’t believe that it was a Holmes who was making him feel this way.

He leaned back in his office chair and winced. A kick to the ribs had left him sore all day and he knew it would be a good week before he could move easily. Thankfully he had Mycroft Holmes to think about.

Greg hadn’t realised there was another Holmes until three days ago when he’d walked into 221B Baker street and met the man. There were sparks immediately and John Watson had pulled Greg into the kitchen to lay out the facts; Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother who worked for the government (or was the government, Greg wasn’t quite sure), gay, sexy, genius, and very available.

Greg had been attracted to the man instantly. While not obviously handsome like his younger brother, there was something about Mycroft that grabbed Greg’s attention. He was powerful, secretive, and very much interested in Greg.

His staring had been obvious once Greg realised the man was interested. They’d both been awkward at first when Greg realised that, like the younger Holmes, Mycroft was unaware when people were attracted to him. Of course, Sherlock knew how to use his looks to get what he wanted and Greg was sure Mycroft had at least flirted a few times in his life to get his ideas accepted. But when John Watson had begun to notice Sherlock, to really look, Sherlock had been oblivious. And Mycroft had been oblivious to Greg’s roaming eyes.

But they had talked and agreed on a date; Friday, six pm. And then Mycroft had received an important call and had to leave with a promise of seeing Greg later.

Greg had floated through the rest of the day, much to Sherlock’s annoyance and John’s joy. He was still floating now. It was Thursday and in one more day he’d be seated across from the elder Holmes in a romantic setting. He was absolutely thrilled.

The DI sipped from his coffee and tried to focus on the report before him. But images of the elder Holmes, most of them dirty, kept wafting through his mind and he found it difficult to concentrate.

There was a knock on his door and Greg blinked. He’d been in the middle of a particularly good fantasy; Mycroft, on his back, stripped of his well-fitting suit and begging Greg to–

‘Erm, yeah?’ he called and cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t as hard as he thought he was.

‘Chief wants your report,’ Sally Donovan said and stepped into the small office.

‘Oh,’ Greg said and looked down at the sheet of paper. He hadn’t made any headway in three hours. ‘Right, erm, still... still working on it.’ He flashed her a charming smile, hoping she’d leave so Greg could get back to his paperwork... or his fantasy.

‘What’s got you in such a good mood?’

‘You know... things,’ he shrugged and bent over to focus on the paper.

‘Things such as...?’ Sally asked and placed her hands on the table.

‘Just things,’ Greg said, trying to move her away from the subject.

Sally wasn’t budging and Greg sighed, looking up at her.

‘Yes?’

‘Did you get lucky or something?’

‘What?’ Greg said and felt colour darken his cheeks. ‘N-no.’

Sally frowned and searched his face. ‘Ah, you’re telling the truth. That sucks.’

‘Sally, go away,’ Greg grunted.

‘How long, Lestrade?’

‘None of your bloody business.’

She laughed. ‘Too long, then.’

‘Leave me alone or I’ll fire you.’

‘No you won’t.’

He sighed and looked up as Sally folded her arms. ‘I... have a date, alright? There, now go away.’

Sally grinned. ‘Finally, jeez, I thought you were going to be alone forever.’

Greg snorted and said, ‘Thanks for that. Now, off you go.’

‘Another blind date?’

‘No,’ Greg huffed, ‘I am forty-seven years-old and more than capable of asking someone out.’

‘Uh huh,’ Sally grinned. ‘What’s her name?’

Greg hesitated. While he never denied, or hid, the fact that he was gay, he hadn’t exactly come out at the Yard. He preferred to keep his personal life private and as he’d never had much of a personal life there’d been no reason to correct people when they assumed he was straight.

While he didn’t want to sit there and lie to Sally about his sexuality, he also didn’t want to reveal that he was dating Mycroft Holmes... well, _about_ to date Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock was hated enough without Lestrade’s team discovering there was another Holmes. And he very badly didn’t want to hear the; “Oh, yuck, a Holmes?”, or “This is just your way of sleeping with Sherlock without actually sleeping with Sherlock”, and “A HOLMES? SERIOUSLY? ARE YOU FUCKING HIGH?!”

He sighed and flipped his pen around, suddenly needing a cigarette. If things went well with Mycroft, and Greg hoped they did, of course he wouldn’t keep the man and his last name a secret. But they hadn’t even gone on one date yet and this was very, very new. Greg didn’t want any more complications.

‘I... erm...’

‘What?’ Sally asked. ‘Come on, I’m not asking for details, just a name.  We’re all friends here. Who else are you gonna tell? The Freak? His doctor puppy?’

‘They already know,’ Greg admitted, ‘actually, they introduced us. Well, John introduced us.’ Greg smiled at the last part, remembering John’s quick words in the small kitchen as Greg melted with embarrassment.

‘Seriously?’ Sally asked. ‘I wasn’t aware the Freak had more than one friend.’

Greg sighed. ‘Please don’t call him that.’

Sally rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah. So, name? Come on, just a name. A first name, nothing more.’

Well, Greg could work with that.

‘Mycroft.’

‘My-croft?’ Sally repeated, sounding out the name slowly. ‘That’s sounds like a–’

‘Man’s name?’ Greg said and she nodded. ‘Yes, well, Mycroft is a man.’

Her eyes widened and Greg found victory in her surprise. Sally was the biggest gossip at Scotland Yard and prided herself on knowing everything. That she hadn’t realised her boss liked men was a huge crush to her gossiping skills.

‘You... and... huh?’

‘Mycroft is a man,’ Greg said, ‘and he is a... friend of John’s and Sherlock’s. We met the other day at Baker Street and hit it off. I asked him out, he accepted.’

He smiled again and Sally continued to stare.

‘Er, Sally? You alright?’

‘Yeah...’ she managed, ‘...just... fine.’

Greg smirked. Another few minutes of silence passed and Greg actually got some work done. He looked up to see that Sally hadn’t moved.

‘Yes, Sally, I’m gay. Anything else?’

‘Er... no...’ she managed after five minutes.

‘Well, I gotta finish this report,’ Greg said. ‘Go on.’

Sally nodded and stood like she was on auto-pilot. She shut the door softly behind herself and Greg almost heard her running. No doubt she was off to tell everyone that he was gay.

Greg himself smiled and once again allowed most of his focus to return to that wonderful fantasy of Mycroft Holmes on his back...

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft Holmes shuffled the ‘Top Secret’ papers about his desk without really seeing them. He could barely concentrate on the ‘needs to be looked at urgently’, ‘major disaster inevitable’, and the, ‘could affect millions of people’ that were stamped across each file. His mind was completely and utterly focused on Gregory Lestrade.

DI Lestrade had occupied his mind many times before but now he’d actually met the man and... he gulped... they had a _date_. An actual date, with dinner, and talking, and the possibility of a kiss and something more.

Mycroft had kissed people, he wasn’t completely inexperienced, but that was as far as anything had ever got. Mostly because Mycroft had been forced, by Mummy, on dates with women.

Mummy Holmes had no idea both her sons were gay. Mycroft could imagine her reaction; ‘the scandal!’, ‘why can’t you settle for a nice girl?’ and the, ‘Mycroft, how could you do this to your poor mother?’

It wasn’t that Mellibelle Holmes was against homosexuality, at least Mycroft didn’t think she was, but she wasn’t a very... compromising person. And though gay couples could legally adopt and even help create a child, it still wasn’t the ‘proper’ way. And Mummy Holmes was all about the ‘proper’ way.

Mycroft sighed. He would have loved to tell his mother long ago that he liked men, not women, but he couldn’t bear to disappoint her. And though Sherlock claimed he didn’t care what anybody thought, he hadn’t told their mother either. Though Sherlock tended towards bisexuality rather than homosexuality. Still, he was with John now. Maybe Sherlock would be the first to tell their mother; than Mycroft could see her reaction.

His thoughts drifter back to DI Lestrade; handsome, funny, charming Gregory. Mycroft still couldn’t quite believe that he and the DI had a date, an actual date. It had been running around in his head since they’d set a time and date.

Mycroft just hoped that nothing came up. He knew his work, and Gregory’s as well, was tiresome with unusual work hours. He knew there would be many date-cancelling in their future (if they had a future). He just hoped they could get to their first one before Greg realised Mycroft wasn’t worth the trouble.

There was a knock on his office door.

‘Yes?’

His assistant, who was going by Andy today, smiled without looking up from her BlackBerry. ‘Meeting with the Home Secretary, sir.’

‘Yes, very well, send him in,’ Mycroft said. He shuffled his unread documents back into their appropriate manila folders and stood to greet the other politician.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg yawned and leaned back. It was Friday, finally, and nearing five o’clock. One more hour and he’d be sitting across from Mycroft. He could barely wait.

‘Hot date tonight?’ Sally asked and grinned.

Greg groaned at her very presence. Since the previous afternoon he’d had to deal with sideways glances and mutters. Though most people didn’t care that he was gay, it was still a shock to people who’d worked with him for years and never known.

‘Go away,’ he grumbled but smiled. ‘Yes, tonight.’

‘I still find it hard to believe,’ Sally admitted.

‘Why?’ Greg asked, ‘because I like beer and don’t dress in tight-fitting pink shirts?’

She chuckled. ‘Don’t be daft. I just... didn’t realise. I should have known, though, all the cute ones are gay.’

‘Mm, just look at Sherlock and John.’

Sally rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll admit that Dr Watson is cute but the Freak... urgh.’

‘Come on,’ Greg laughed. ‘Sherlock is handsome, even you have to admit it.’

‘Nope.’

‘Sally, he’s a good looking man.’

‘Nah ah.’

‘He is.’

Sally laughed and said, ‘Are you sure it’s not the Freak you want to sleep with me?’

‘No!’ Greg said hotly. Though Sherlock _was_ good looking, he wasn’t Greg’s type. Too skinny, and annoying, and fucking smug. ‘And stop calling him that!’

‘Fine, sorry, _Holmes_. Seems like you wanna shag Holmes.’

Greg grinned and almost said he _did_ want to shag Holmes; just not the Holmes Sally was thinking of. Because although Sherlock was handsome (anybody with an eye could see that), Mycroft was just... he was Mycroft. He was like a better version of Sherlock yet completely unique at the same time; he had the Holmes brain from what John had told him, but was polite, charming, sexy, and just... he was Mycroft.

‘What?’ Sally asked and Greg realised he had been silent for too long.

‘Er, nothing,’ he said. ‘Finish your notes, I gotta leave before six.’

Sally smiled.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft glared at his phone. He couldn’t believe it. Well, actually, he could. Because every time something good happened to him something worse followed. And now, here he was, sitting in his office when he should have been on his way to see Gregory Lestrade.

He sighed and very badly wanted to cancel the meeting. But you didn’t cancel an audience with the Queen herself; it wasn’t something Mycroft could do. He wasn’t _that_ powerful.

He sighed again and, with great reluctance, grabbed his phone and dialled DI Lestrade.

 

-oOo-

 

‘Mycroft, hello,’ Greg grinned and leaned forward on his desk. It was five-thirty and Greg’s excitement had built. ‘We still on for tonight?’

He heard Mycroft sigh and his stomach dropped. No, please no, not now, not when they were so close.

‘What?’ Greg asked.

‘ _I’m afraid I have to cancel_ ,’ Mycroft said. ‘ _A very important person has called for a meeting with me and it’s not something I can get out of. I very much want to, Gregory; I was looking forward to seeing you tonight._ ’

‘Yeah,’ Greg said roughly, trying to bite back the annoyance he was feeling. Half-a-fucking-hour before hand and Mycroft was cancelling.

‘ _Gregory, I’m sorry_ ,’ Mycroft continued. ‘ _I was looking forward to seeing you tonight. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since we first met._ ’

Greg bit his lip and felt hope swell through the disappointment in his stomach. ‘Really?’

‘ _Of course,_ ’ Mycroft said. ‘ _How could I possibly concentrate on work with you in my head?_ ’

Greg chuckled and they lapsed into silence.

‘ _I’m sorry,_ ’ Mycroft said again.

‘Yes, I know,’ Greg sighed and rubbed his eyes. ‘But work’s important, right? Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Well, I’m used to saying it to people.’

‘ _Yes, of course, your hours must be as hectic as mine._ ’

The DI very much doubted that. If what John said was true, and most of it was guessing on the doctor’s part, Mycroft Holmes practically _was_ the British Government. A brilliant man like him wouldn’t be happy with a “minor” position.

‘I’m sorry, Mycroft, I’m acting like a little kid,’ Greg sighed. ‘I understand you have work.’

‘ _I wish I didn’t._ ’

‘But you do,’ Greg said, ‘and we’re both adults. Another time?’

‘ _I’ll call you,_ ’ Mycroft said and paused. ‘ _I have to go, Gregory, she doesn’t wait for anybody. I’m sorry._ ’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Greg chuckled. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

Mycroft apologised once more and hung up. Greg dropped his phone onto the desk and stared at it, angrily. Fucking Mycroft Fucking Holmes. Cancelled. That was it, gone. Greg’s perfect night ruined.

He leaned back and continued to stare at the phone, willing Mycroft to call back and change his mind. But he knew it wouldn’t happen and sighed.

‘Fuck it, I need a cigarette,’ he growled and stood. He swiped his phone angrily and stormed from his office.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft took a moment to prepare himself for the meeting and ended up flicking on his laptop screen. He shuffled through to the surveillance of Scotland Yard and watched as Gregory Lestrade leaned against a wall and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it quickly and stopped fidgeting immediately as he lifted his shirt to peel a used nicotine patch from his tanned forearm. He rolled it up and stuck it in his pocket as he puffed on his cigarette.

Mycroft sighed. Greg had been doing so well, too. He’d been clean almost two months and now was smoking again. And it was Mycroft’s fault. Well, really it was the Queen’s fault but she could hardly be blamed for scheduling a meeting at such an inconvenient time.

He leaned back in his seat and his eyes roamed over the familiar man before him. He so badly wanted to be with Greg right now and should have been. But the bloody royal family...

Mycroft sighed. Why did this have to happen to him? There was a tap on his door and A entered, looking up from her BlackBerry.

‘Your car is here, sir.’

Mycroft nodded and stood, smoothing down his suit. He glanced at Greg one last time before closing his laptop with a hard snap. He grabbed his umbrella and coat and A followed him from his office.

Now Mycroft wanted a cigarette.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg Lestrade stepped from his car and paused to fish out his mobile. He was in front of 221 and needed to see Sherlock about a new case that had been dumped on his desk. He spied the caller ID and his stomach flipped slightly; Mycroft Holmes.

‘How was your meeting?’ Greg asked and pulled out his cigarette packet. He lit one as Mycroft answered.

‘ _Not the way I had intended to spend my evening,_ ’ Mycroft answered. It had been nearly a week since Mycroft had cancelled and Greg had practically been pining for the elder Holmes. ‘ _How are you?_ ’

‘Oh, you know; murder, robbery, same old.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘ _Yes, a typical week._ ’

They lapsed into silence and Greg puffed on his cigarette. ‘So...’ he finally started.

‘ _I was hoping you could accompany me to dinner tonight,_ ’ Mycroft said. ‘ _If you are free, of course._ ’

Greg glanced at the file in his hand. He and his team hadn’t gotten far since it had been dumped on Greg’s desk five days earlier. He doubted Sherlock would make much headway in a few hours...

‘Yeah, sounds good. Time?’

‘ _Six,_ ’ Mycroft answered. ‘ _Shall I pick you up from Scotland Yard_?’

‘Yeah, alright,’ Greg said and found himself grinning. ‘I’ll see you then, Mycroft.’

‘ _And I won’t cancel, I promise,_ ’ Mycroft said.

Greg sighed. ‘Don’t promise, Mycroft. You don’t know what might happen.’

‘ _Yes, I know,_ ’ Mycroft said. ‘ _Hopefully I will see you tonight._ ’

‘Yeah, hopefully,’ Greg said. ‘I gotta go, Mycroft. I’ll see you later... hopefully.’

‘ _Bye_.’

Greg hung up and, feeling slightly better, finished his cigarette before heading into 221.

Mrs Hudson let him in and he climbed the stairs. He knocked lightly but hardly expected an answer. John usually opened the door but after a minute no one did and he frowned. Maybe John was out...

Greg tried the handle and, finding the door unlocked, pushed it open and stepped in.

He shouted at the sight before him. Sherlock Holmes, on his back on the couch, with a completely naked John Watson atop him, having... well, fucking him. They looked to be right in the middle of things but stopped when Greg yelled, ‘God!’

John turned red and Sherlock tipped his head back over the armrest to look at him, seemingly completely comfortable at being caught in the middle of sex.

Greg laughed and asked, ‘So you don’t want the case?’ and held up the file.

‘Later!’ Sherlock shouted while John just stared mutely, his face a nice red colour.

Greg grinned and backed out of the flat quickly, shutting the door behind him. He stood still for a minute before deciding to have another cigarette and wait outside.

 

-oOo-

 

‘Case?’

Greg looked up from his third cigarette. Sherlock was buttoning up the top of his shirt and pulling his coat on. He looked thoroughly... well, he looked happy.

Greg grinned and sipped from his coffee as he passed over the file. ‘Twenty-year-old girl, stuffed in the dryer in her building. Anything?’

Sherlock’s eyes roamed over the report. ‘Give me a few minutes,’ he said and disappeared back inside. Greg leaned back on the police car and puffed on his cigarette.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft sighed and flexed his fingers. He’d done more signing in the last hour than he had in the past year. But it was worth it. He had five more reports to read over and sign before he was free for the night, or at least for the next couple of hours. He could enjoy an early dinner with Greg and maybe...

His phone rang.

Mycroft groaned and picked up the BlackBerry. The caller ID said _DI Lestrade_ and Mycroft knew it wouldn’t be good news, especially two hours before their date.

‘Gregory, lovely to hear from you,’ Mycroft said.

‘ _Hi,_ ’ Greg said before shouting, ‘ _Sherlock, stay_ back _! Damn it!_ ’ He cursed and Mycroft winced. ‘ _Sorry, your brother’s a bloody lunatic._ ’

‘I am aware, Gregory,’ Mycroft said.

‘ _I have to cancel tonight,_ ’ Greg said and Mycroft’s stomach twisted itself into a neat and painful little knot. ‘ _Sorry, I don’t want to, but Sherlock’s found the killer and we’re about to go in. It’s gonna be at least two hours of negotiations and I have to fill out a report and take statements from Sherlock and– Sherlock, for fuck’s sake, what part of ‘stay back’ don’t you understand? Sorry, I gotta go._ ’

‘Yes, I under–’ the call cut off suddenly and Mycroft groaned. He very much wanted to slam his BlackBerry against his mahogany desk but stopped himself, slightly. Instead he dropped it heavily and watched a new crack appear across the edge of the screen.

He thumped his fists onto the table. ‘Damn it!’ he snarled. One night, just one bloody night, was it too much to ask?

Mycroft sighed and leaned back, tapping at the table. He stared at his phone in anger. Finally he buzzed his PA and A entered swiftly. She placed a cigarette packet and lighter on the table.

‘Thank you,’ Mycroft smiled and leaned down to pull an ashtray from his bottom draw. It was illegal to smoke in government buildings, or any building really, but as long as Mycroft opened a window he’d be okay.

A did it for him and paused at the door.

‘Yes?’ Mycroft asked as he lit a cigarette. He breathed out a lungful of smoke and sighed. He hadn’t smoked in... four months?

‘I’m sorry your date fell through again, sir,’ A said.

Mycroft nodded. ‘Thank you, Amy.’

She smiled briefly before disappearing. Mycroft sighed and leaned back to try and enjoy his cigarette.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg rubbed his face and winced. He had four fresh cuts and a broken little finger. It was taped to the other two and he tried to stop himself smacking them into anything. It proved impossible, though.

Of course Sherlock had refused to stay back. And of course John Watson had gone in after him. And of _course_ Greg had had to drag an unconscious Sherlock from the building. Sherlock Fucking Holmes who had gone and solved the case and resulted in Greg cancelling his date.

Greg was happy they’d caught the killer but now he was battered, bruised, and still hadn’t snogged Mycroft Holmes.

He sighed and pulled out his phone.

 

_Dinner Saturday? Sorry I had to cancel._

_Greg Lestrade_

The reply came an hour later while Greg was trying to figure out how to sign his name with taped up fingers making it impossible for him to grip his fucking pen.

 

_Sounds lovely. I hope you caught the killer and Sherlock wasn’t too annoying. I saw him in hospital, he seems fine._

_MH_

Greg smiled. Sherlock had only collapsed because he hadn’t eaten in five days. John had been furious and Greg had giggled at the childlike look of upset that had spread across Sherlock’s face.

 

_Yeah, he’s fine, just underfed. John is taking care of that though. Seven sound good. You can pick me up seeing as how I have no idea where you work or live._

_Greg_

 

_I look forward to it._

_MH_

Greg grinned. Somehow he managed to get his left hand around the pen and sign a shaky ‘G Lestrade’ on the report. One down, four billion to go.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft’s fingers hovered over the buttons before he finally made himself text. Afterwards he poured himself a stiff drink and had another cigarette.

 

_I have to cancel; danger in Russia, I’m needed immediately. I’m sorry._

_MH_

Greg’s reply came more than four hours later.

 

_Fine._

Mycroft sighed and had another smoke... or ten.

 

-oOo-

 

_Tonight, six pm._

_MH_

Greg Lestrade stared at his phone. Nearly three weeks since their first failed date and Greg was... he was annoyed, and angry, and fucking horny. Dating shouldn’t have been this hard. They hadn’t even managed to go on one!

But he still liked the man and wanted a date. So he sighed, set himself up for disappointment, and texted back.

 

_Yeah, sounds good. Might see you then._

_GL_

There was a tap on his door and Sally Donovan poked her head in. ‘Triple homicide, looks tough. I can’t believe I’m saying this but might have to call the Freak.’

Greg sighed. ‘Yeah, right, I’ll call him now.’

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft glared at the message he’d received;

 

_Cancelling, sorry. New murder, Sherlock’s all over it, but he’s still being vague. Sorry._

_G_

Why? Why couldn’t they have one fucking date? It was doing Mycroft’s head in. He just wanted to sit across from Greg and share a bloody meal. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently it was. Because the universe seemed determined to keep the two apart. Mycroft groaned and lit another cigarette. He was back to smoking a pack a day. He sighed and stared at his phone.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg sighed and looked at his phone. It was a message he didn’t want to send but it seemed he’d have to. Because three weeks was too long; Greg couldn’t take it anymore. He was back to smoking a pack of cigarettes a day and just the thought of Mycroft Holmes had him squirming.

But he couldn’t handle it anymore. It seemed their one fucking date was never going to be and Greg... Greg was done. He wanted Mycroft badly but couldn’t stand the cancelled dates anymore. And if this was how their first date was going to go he hated to think how any others would end... if they even began.

He picked up his phone and typed quickly before dropping it on his desk and burying his face in his arms:

 

_Mycroft... look, this isn’t working. I want to date you, badly, but I can’t handle the cancelations anymore. They must be rough on you too so... look, dating shouldn’t be this hard and we can’t even get away long enough to have a first. So I’m giving up, alright? No more promises of dates with one of us cancelling. We should both just find people who don’t have such hectic schedules. I’m sorry, Mycroft, and I still like you but... I just can’t, not anymore. Sorry._

_Gregory Lestrade_

_x_

 

-oOo-

 

Two days later and Greg thought that was that. His stomach ached, his head hurt, and he was tired... but that was that. Done, he and Mycroft were over before they’d begun. And it shouldn’t have hurt this much. They hadn’t even gone on one date... so why did Greg feel so awful?

He shuffled the papers on his desk and flexed his fingers. His left pinkie finger was still bandaged to the other ones but it wasn’t as sore anymore.

There was a knock on his office door and Greg groaned. He wanted to go home and shower and eat and cry. He didn’t want another murder.

‘Yeah?’

He looked up and was shocked to see Mycroft Holmes step into the office with a bag of takeaway.

‘Mycroft?’

‘Good evening, Gregory,’ Mycroft said and paused by the closed door. ‘I received your text and was most... upset by its contents. I can see how you would be upset as I myself have found that I’m... more than disappointed at our bad run.’

He paused and bit his lip, staring at Greg. Greg stared back.

‘Please, Gregory, give us one more chance. I have instructed my assistant not to bother me for at least a few hours. Please, just have dinner with me.’

‘What, here?’ Greg asked and Mycroft nodded.

‘I have Indian food and... please?’

Greg started at Mycroft, wondering how often the politician said ‘please’. He couldn’t deny that he was still extremely attracted to Mycroft and he still wanted to date him... and the food _did_ smell good.

Greg smiled. ‘How can a man refuse?’

Mycroft sighed in relief and crossed the small room. He helped Greg push aside his files and pulled containers from the plastic bag.

‘Butter chicken,’ Greg said and grinned, ‘my favourite.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘I know.’ He pulled his BlackBerry from his pocket and placed it on the desk beside Greg’s Nokia. ‘No interruptions.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes.’

Greg smiled.

 

-oOo-

 

And so, finally, they had their first date. It was fantastic; they talked about everything from politics to football. They laughed, and frowned, and argued, and agreed. They leaned in closer and closer until Mycroft’s chair was right beside Greg’s. They shared food and stories and had a fantastic time.

Greg dropped his fork into the empty container and sipped from his water bottle. ‘That was fantastic. Thank you, Mycroft.’

‘The pleasure was all mine,’ Mycroft smiled back. He took a long drink from his own bottle and grinned.

They just stared at each other, enjoying the company.

‘Finally, our first date,’ Greg said and moved his hand to place it on one of Mycroft’s.

Mycroft’s cheeks turned pink and he said, ‘Erm, yes, I thought we’d never get here.’

‘I’m sorry I gave up,’ Greg said. ‘I just... it was frustrating.’

‘I know,’ Mycroft smiled.

Suddenly they were both leaning forward at the same time and Mycroft offered his partner a small smile. Greg grinned back and they got closer. And then, millimetres from Mycroft, the DI froze.

‘Is something wrong?’ Mycroft asked, suddenly worried.

Greg glanced at Mycroft’s BlackBerry, which was still sitting on the table. Mycroft chuckled softly and his breath washed over Greg, making his skin tingle.

‘No interruptions,’ Mycroft said and reached up to cup Greg’s cheek.

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said.

And, finally, on their first bloody date that should have happened three weeks earlier, Greg and Mycroft kissed.

It was soft, and warm, and beautiful. Greg pushed his lips against Mycroft’s and nearly groaned when Mycroft started stroking his cheek. Greg poked his tongue out and ran it along Mycroft’s lower lip.

Mycroft opened his mouth to Greg and the DI plunged his tongue in, enjoying the warmth, the wetness, the taste.

He explored Mycroft’s mouth thoroughly, smiling when Mycroft moaned softly. His tongue retreated and was followed by Mycroft’s, who stopped just at his lips.

Greg opened his mouth further, inviting him in and, hesitantly, Mycroft pushed his tongue into Greg’s mouth. His grip on Greg’s cheek tightened slightly as he ran his tongue along Greg’s, committing the taste, the feel, to memory.

He pulled back and they kissed softly again, just loving the feel of lips against lips. Greg tilted his head and after a second Mycroft copied so that their lips locked together better. Greg reached out to rest a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder and Mycroft shivered beneath the touch.

Mycroft’s BlackBerry rang.

Gregory groaned but didn’t stop kissing and Mycroft didn’t either, not until Greg’s own Nokia started vibrating. Mycroft sighed and pulled back, swooping to collect the BlackBerry and press it to his ear.

‘Holmes,’ he answered and continued to stroke Greg’s cheek.

Greg answered his own, ‘Lestrade here.’

‘Yes, I see,’ Mycroft said.

‘I’ll be right there,’ Greg sighed.

 Mycroft dropped his phone on the table and Greg copied him.

‘I know, you have to go,’ Greg said and added, ‘don’t worry, I understand; job’s important. I gotta go too; murder.’

Mycroft stroked Greg’s cheek. ‘I’m very sorry, Gregory. And this night was going so well.’

‘We had dinner and kissed with no interruptions for about four hours,’ Greg smiled. ‘That’s a miracle, Mycroft. I thought we’d never get here.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Thank you for allowing me this chance.’

‘How could I not?’ Greg asked. ‘I needed to kiss you before giving up completely.’

‘And?’ Mycroft asked, hesitantly, suddenly afraid that he didn’t stand up to Greg’s needs.

Greg smiled and leaned forward to press his lips to Mycroft’s. ‘Very good,’ he said, ‘best first kiss ever.’

Mycroft grinned and kissed back, both keeping it chaste. And then Mycroft was pulling back and standing.

Greg followed and they grabbed their things before leaving. Outside Mycroft turned and said, ‘I’ll call you.’

Greg nodded and suddenly grabbed Mycroft. He hauled him in for one last passionate tongue-wrestle and both men groaned. Who knew when they’d get to see each other again?

‘I had a great time, Mycroft, really,’ Greg said and pulled back, grinning to see Mycroft flushed. ‘I’ll wait as long as I have too.’

‘Believe me, I will not make you wait too long,’ Mycroft said. Greg pecked him quickly on the lips. ‘Have a good evening, Gregory.’

‘You too, Mycroft,’ Greg smiled. ‘Go save the world.’

Mycroft chuckled and stepped into his black car gracefully. It pulled away and Greg watched it go, smiling.

The date had been... excellent. And the kissing? Greg was still reeling from that. He smiled. It was true, what he’d said; he’d wait as long as it took. Because there was no way he wasn’t going to try and wrangle Mycroft Holmes into a long-term relationship.

He lifted his fingers to his lips and grinned at the memory.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft groaned and fell into the car heavily.

‘I apologise, sir,’ A said.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Mycroft sighed. He badly wanted to tell the PM to go screw himself and run back to Greg. But it couldn’t be and he knew it.

‘Was it at least a good date, sir?’ A asked.

Mycroft raised his fingers to his lips. He smiled at the memory.


End file.
